


The Dawn Comes Next

by Bellatrix_Wannabe_89



Series: WCA [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: But Jaime and Brienne will fuck up anyone who fucks with their little gay cub, F/M, Family Drama, It Is Illegal For a Teenage Girl to Get Along With Her Mother, M/M, Minor Arya Stark/Gendry Waters, Minor Jon Snow/Val, Minor Podrick Payne/Sansa Stark, Period-Typical Homophobia, Sequel, Teenage Drama, Teenage Rebellion
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-12
Updated: 2020-01-14
Packaged: 2021-01-29 06:36:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21405787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bellatrix_Wannabe_89/pseuds/Bellatrix_Wannabe_89
Summary: Sequel to ‘What Comes After’.It’s been sixteen years since the dragon queen was defeated and the two knights were allowed to return home to Tarth with their cub. Now they have a whole pride of Lannister’s growing, living, learning, loving (those they should and those they shouldn’t) and fighting, while through it all Jaime and Brienne gladly stay by eachothers side, from this day until their last. Even when a firery shadow thought to be forgotten starts to make its way across the narrow sea...
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Series: WCA [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1543165
Comments: 56
Kudos: 110





	1. Chapter 1

“Back, fourth, parry. Back, fourth- Tycen, I told you, move your feet! And stop letting him lead you! Good… good, alright stop.”

Galladon and Tycen Lannister put down their custom made tourney swords and both took a few deep breaths, their dark blue armor with a golden lion overtop the quartered suns and moons of Tarth stained with dirt from the training yard of Evenfall Hall.

Galladon wiped the sweat from his brow and flashed a smile at a bruised Tycen with all the smugness that came with being the first born son and heir (along with being half a Lannister).

“You’re getting better, little brother,” Galladon purred to the increasingly agitated Tycen. “Next time I might even have to try a little bit.”

“I almost beat you that time!” the younger boy protested, pushing the mop of straw colored hair from his face and narrowing the eyes he inherited from the tall woman training them at his sibling.

“Almost doesn’t count. And no, you didn’t.”

”Alright, alright… That’s enough of that,” Brienne chastised her eldest son.

“Sorry Mother,” Glladon apologized almost immediately but the glint of knowing he was better than his opponent and had no problem showing it was shining in the eyes as bright as an afternoon sun.

Those smug eyes, sapphires flecked with emeralds, seemed to be the only thing he inherited from his mother. The rest was all Jaime; fair comely features, yellow hair, a sharp jaw and a sharper wit that rivaled his father’s…. There was no doubt whose son the lion cub was.

Tycen on the other hand favored the Tarth side; only eleven years old and almost as tall as his brother, lanky pale blonde hair, plump lips, a broad face and body, thick in the jaw but with other worldly beautiful deep blue eyes. Thankfully for the second son the Gods made those features much more favorable on a lord than a lady.

“How can I not believe you’re sorry when you offer such a sincere sounding apology?” said Brienne dryly. Galladon gifted his mother a rather pompous grin before he turned back to his brother, raising his sword ready to strike when Brienne called out for them to stop. “Switch hands.”

Galladon bit back a laugh as the younger lion groaned, letting the point of the sparring sword drop to the ground. “I hate switching!” Tycen whined, ignoring the raised brow of his mother. “I’m no good when I use my left!” 

“Which is why you need the practice. What if what happened to your father happens to you?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “And if you complain again I’ll have you mucking out the stables until midnight. Come on, left hand.”

“But-!”

“Don’t argue with your mother.”

The two boys and Brienne turned and saw Jaime walking across the training yard, a towheaded girl atop his shoulders in her own training armor holding a small wooden sword with a beaming grin on her face. 

Alysanne Lannister was eight years old and a delightful mix of lion and sunburst. She was their ‘happy little accident’ as Jaime called her when they first found out Brienne was pregnant after they promised each other no more children after the twins.

Her father’s green eyes were shining with the joy that came from a happy childhood, her mother’s pale blonde hair was cut short to her ears and she wore a wide smile far more often than the woman she inherited the plump lips from. Right now those lips were beaming with giddy excitement as she bounced up and down on Jaime’s shoulders. “Papa said I could try fighting Tycen today!”

Brienne turned towards Jaime who, even after sixteen years, still smiled every time he heard that blessed title. “He did, did he?”

“Yes, Mama!”

“I made her a promise,” said Jaime with a look they might have fooled a fool into believing he was apologetic. “And a Lannister always pays his debts.

Brienne tried to hold onto her unamused expression but her daughters excitement made it impossible to hold onto it for long. “Well she’s going to be fighting better opponents than straw men eventually, she may as well start now.”

Alysanne beamed as Jaime set the small girl on the ground. She held her wooden sword aloft like a well-seasoned knight. 

“An eight year old girl as your competition, Tycen,” Galladon sneered rather amused as his siblings squared off. “Who knows, this time you MIGHT stand a chance.”

Brienne pursed her lips as her youngest son’s pale face turned beat red, the blush traveling all the way down his neck, bringing forth another laugh from his brother as Tycen dropped his blue eyes to the ground.

“Change of plans,” she announced rather sharply. “You’re both going up against Galladon.”

Any amusement drained from the older cubs face. “I’m sorry?”

“Tycen and Alysanne you’ll be using your right, Galladon you’re using your left.”

“Mother, that’s-.”

“A fair fight, I believe, for the future Lord of the Rock,” said Brienne with a curt nod.

“I-.”

“Ready? Good. Start!”

Brienne and Jaime watched as Alysanne and Tycen went on the full offensive, wooden swords and blunted steel slamming into the thin metal armor and giving their older sibling no reprieve.

“How long should we let this go on?” Jaime asked his wife, an amused glint in his eyes as they watched the second eldest of their pride struggle to fight off what he considered his lessers.

“Give it another minute or two,” Brienne answered, watching carefully to make sure they didn’t bruise anything more than her son’s ego.

“He’s such a proud little peacock,” Jaime mused. “No idea where he gets it from really...” 

Brienne whipped towards her husband and stared in open disbelief while he simply shrugged. She shook her head before she turned back to her children. “Where’s Joanna? I know she hates it but I told her she has to learn to at least handle that dagger before she leaves Tarth.”

“Joanna is currently locked in her chambers sulking and refusing to talk to me,” Jaime answered, snickering when Alysanne landed a rather sharp hit against Galladon’s leg and making the older boy jump back.

Brienne sighed, hanging her head for a moment before she turned to him. “What happened this time?”

“No idea. She won’t talk to me.”

The tall woman nodded before she told her other children to stop the assault on the older boy. “Will you finish up here so I can go talk to her?”

“Of course, My Lady.”

With a grateful smile Brienne went over to Galladon and put a gentle hand on the small of his back, leading him away from the others. 

“Are you hurt?” she asked in a hushed tone to save him any more embarrassment. 

Galladon shrugged. He didn’t look up from the ground while he grabbed his shoulder where Tycen hit him with a particularly hard smack with the broadside of his sparring sword. “My arm hurts a little.”

“Do you need to go see Maester Waldon?”

The young lion shook his head before he answered with a grumbled, “I’m fine.”

“Good. You understand why I did it right?”

“Yes,” he muttered without looking up from the ground.

“And you understand why this kind of behavior needs to stop?”

“I was just joking,” he protested, finally looking up at Brienne. “I didn’t mean anything by it!”

“Sometimes jests can be crueler than we realize.” She ran a calloused hand through his yellow hair and softened her tone considerably. “I’ll never ask you to downplay your skills no matter who you spar with. You’ve earned the right to be proud of them. But Tycen is still your brother, and you need to start being kinder to him. Words are wind but they can still sting.” 

She knew he merely wanted to get back to his training when he muttered out a half hearted, “yes, Mother,” but she bit back any more arguments and sent him on his way. 

After heading back into the grand marble castle Brienne changed out of her armor and washed the sweat and dirt from her face, dressing in a clean rose colored tunic with a golden lion brooch on her breast and dark blue trousers before she made her way to the room the late Selwyn Tarth had designed sixteen long years ago. 

“Joanna?” Brienne called through the wooden door with the Tarth sigil engrained on the wood to no answer, lightly tapping on it. “Joanna, it’s your mother open up.” 

Still no response but silence.

“Joanna, open this door _ now _.”

There was a beat and then footsteps on the carpeted stone and finally the locks untumbled and the door opened.

Joanna Lannister was as beautiful as a daughter of Brienne’s could have hoped to be. There was a scattering of freckles across her small pointed nose that thankfully belonged to the Lions side, plump lips, features that were considered not exactly sharp but not exactly wide, a face that wasn't exactly beautiful but no one would have ever thought her homely either. The same beautiful blue eyes that matched the blue of the water surrounding the island that belonged to Brienne belonged to Joanna as well but with an inherited Lannister sharpness. She was taller than other girls her age with broad shoulders, broad hips and a small chest but was still shaping out to be the shortest and comeliest of the Tarth pride. Pale straw colored curls flowed freely down her back, far longer than her mother’s or her sister’s.

The expression she wore was similar to Galladon's and the rest of the Lannister’s; she knew she owned the paving stones beneath their feet. 

The young lioness looked at Brienne with all the practiced snark of her father’s House. “What?” she asked with a frosty bite.

Brienne merely raised her brow. “Is that how you speak to your mother?”

Joanna pursed her lips and moved out of the way of the door. Brienne offered her a curt nod as thanks as she walked in and shut the door behind her. 

The hand carved crescent moon bassinet, used for all five little cubs, was packed safely away awaiting their first grandchild and in its place was a large canopy feather bed with silky crimson sheets and gold down bedding, while curtains of pink and blue draped from the tall wooden posts. The tall crimson wardrobe from her infancy was still there; now full to the brim with silk and velvet gowns, embroidered bodices and floor length skirts. The two marble lions that stood guard inside her door and the crescent moon and sun throw rug had remained as well. A large white marble desk sat against the wall laden with books of romantic and galant songs and other bits and bobbles, while the rocking chair that used to sit beside her bassinet was tucked away in the corner of the room 

Brienne sat down in the high leather chair besides the desk, folding her hands in front of her. “You want to tell me why you didn’t come to training today?” 

“Not particularly.”

“Joanna-,” Brienne began sharply.

“I don’t have to do anything I don’t want too,” she interrupted rather haughtily.

The blonde knight was about to reprimand her for her rudeness when a glint of silver caught the corner of her eye. The dragon bone dagger with a gold colored marble hilt Brienne had the blacksmith make special for her eldest daughter discarded on the floor like it was a toy rather than in its proper place in its handsome rose colored scabbard and put up where they belonged.

The tall woman stormed over to the small weapon and snatched it up from the floor, doing her best to keep her temper under control. “This is how you treat your gifts?” 

Joanna shrugged. “I told you I didn’t want the dagger when you gave it to me.”

“I know you don’t want a dagger. I know you don’t want to learn how to USE a dagger, but-.”

“I’m marrying the Lord of Stormsend.” Her Lannister smirk faded into a sheepish Tarth grin, the same as it always did when the future Warden of the East was mentioned. She covered her mouth with her hand to hide the appearance of the wide toothy smile. “Ned’s going to be a knight, he’ll protect me if I ever need it.”

Ned Baratheon was the lawful heir to the dull grey stone castle on the edge of the Narrow Sea. He was fifteen years of age and more importantly, he hadn’t been promised to anyone as of yet.

“Lady Arya and Lord Gendry haven’t said rather or not they’ll even consider the offer,” Brienne reminded her. “And even if they do, Ned can’t be with you all the time.”

It took everything in her to remain the lady she thought herself and not stomp her foot. “They WILL say yes, Father promised they would.”

_ Of course he would bloody tell her that… _“My little love,” she sighed. “I know you care about him-.”

“I don’t just care about him, I love him,” Joanna corrected. 

“Very well, you love him. But his parents still haven’t consented. Even still; I want you to learn how to use the dagger.” Joanna’s pout grew and Brienne sighed. _ I would have slain the Mother for a chance to be trained how to wield a dagger… _“I tell you what; you train with me two days a week, an hour a day without complaint, and I’ll bring in a tailor from Kingslanding to make you a brand new dress when we visit Stormsend in a month. I’ll try to get the same woman who makes Princess Dalla’s dresses.”

Joanna’s big blue eyes grew wide and jaw slacked open revealing slightly crooked teeth. “Really? The princesses own dressmaker? You really think she’ll do it?”

“If she can find the time. If not you’ll still get a new gown but it’ll be from your own dressmaker,” Brienne warned. “I’ll write to her tonight. Is it a deal?”

The sun of Dorne didn’t beam as bright as Joanna’s face. She raced over to Brienne and threw her arms around her. “Thank you, Mother!” Her words were choked with emotions. “Thank you thank you thank you!”

With a fevered promise to show up promptly after they broke their fast the next morning, Brienne headed back to the training yard where Galladon was fighting against Lord Hugh while Jaime was watching Tycen take it exceptionally slow with an overeager Alysanne.

“My Lady,” Jaime said with a small bow when he saw Brienne approaching before she took her place by his side. “How fares our daughter?”

“She’s fine.” She turned to look at her husband. “Did you really promise her that Arya and Gendry would say yes to the betrothal?”

He almost seemed surprised she sounded upset. “Of course I did.”

“Jaime, she’s going to be heartbroken if they go with another girl.”

“They won’t.”

She crossed her arms in front of her chest. “How can you be sure? In case you’ve forgotten, Arya still hates you and doesn’t trust me.”

“It doesn’t matter if she trusts you or likes me. The Stormlands has allies in the north, the Vale, and the Crownlands while they have none in the Reach or the Westerlands. It makes no sense to marry him off to one of his cousins, Bronn’s daughter is too young to marry and even now there’s still arguments as to rather or not he has the right to Highgarden. Joanna is close in age, she’s not related to him, she has the right last name, and she WANTS to marry him. How many arranged marriages happen where they’re friends beforehand and don’t have to get to know each other only after they exchange cloaks?”

It all sounded perfectly cut and dry when he said it like that. Wasn’t that why they she and Jaime along with Sansa and Pod betrothed Galladon and Catelyn Stark when the former was eleven and the latter was only ten? It was all politics and hopes that the two would get along and grow to love each other. It was supposed to start ‘the age of peace between Lions and Wolves’ as Sansa has called it the day their children were formally betrothed both in the Winterfell sept the first Ned built the first Cat and then in front of the Weirwood tree, a promise the families were making to Westeros that the fighting between Starks and Lannisters was done at long last.

Even still… “I just don’t want her disappointed and heartbroken if they say no.”

“They won’t.” Jaime wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her close to him. “It’ll be fine.” He sealed the promise with a kiss and the two of them turned back to supervise the rest of the training.

The rest of the day went by the same as it always did; meetings with Maester Waldon and Ser Hugh, Jaime teaching Galladon about the politics of the Westerlands and how to navigate those particular waters while Brienne taught Tycen the more intricate details of the mining trade of the Sapphire Isle. When it was supper time Alysanne and Tylah, Tycen’s twin, had to be called in from archery practice, and Joanna was summoned from her embroidery lessons with the Septa.

Tonight was a simple meal of roast boar crusted in herbs and garlic and boiled turnips swimming in butter, a salad of apple, walnuts and summer greens, spiced squash and then bread dough fried in fat and covered in a dusty white sugar for dessert.

Midway through the dinner Galladon turned to Brienne and Jaime at the head of the table, the two of them sitting side by side as equals. “After supper may I go riding with Ser Harlon?”

Brienne swallowed her mouthful of cider. “Isn’t it a little late for riding much less jousting?”

“Ser Harlon says if you can master your horse in the dark then riding in the sun is an easier feat.”

“If it’s alright with your father then it’s fine by me. Jaime?”

“I don’t have a problem with it,” Jaime shrugged, taking a bite of turnips. “Will you be entering the joust at the tourney in Stormsend next year?”

“No I think I’ll stick with the melee.” Galladon took a bite of the squash. “I’m good but I’m not good enough to win against a whole host of seasoned jousters. But by the time the Stormsend tourney comes along next year, I’ll be able to take down any man who dares to come within striking distance.”

“I don’t think you’ll have to wait that long.” Brienne pulled out a raven scroll that had come that afternoon. “It appears Prince Robb is having a great tourney to celebrate his coming of age in three months in Kingslanding and we... are all invited.”

There was an explosion of shouts and cheers and questions around the great marble table.

Joanna squeed with delight and started talking about the singers and the knights and all the grand beauty that came with a royal joust, and of course she would need a new gown for the occasion, Tylah and Tycen both asked if they could enter even though they had just reached their twelfth birthday (a question both Jaime and Brienne gave a hard no to) and Alasynne was just happy to be able to see the Red Keep serving girl who gave her a sweet the last time they had stayed there when she fell and scraped her knee.

But Galladon of all people had gone surprisingly silent, and was far more interested in pushing a bit of boar fat around with his fork then joining in with the excitement of the announcement.

“So… So Prince Robb?” Galladon cleared his throat, looking down at his plate. “He’ll be at the tourney?”

Tylah snorted and answered the question by flinging a bit of turnip across the table at him. “Typically when a tourney is thrown in your honor you tend to go.”

While Brienne reprimanded Tylah for the sarcasm and the waste of food, she missed the ideal Lannister smirk melting into a soft toothy Tarth grin at the knowledge he would be seeing the Wolf Prince of Dragonstone once more. 

She missed the look he never wore, not even once, when he spoke about his betrothed Catelyn Stark. 

She missed the fact that her eldest son wore the exact same grin thinking about Robb Stark that his mother herself wore whenever she talked about her husband even after all these years…

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	2. Chapter 2

“We’ll obviously marry at Stormsend. I mean our sept is nice but it only seats 500, there’s seats fifteen hundred.”

“So you’ve said.”

“Plus it’ll be nice having something significant happen in a place that isn’t made of marble.” Joanna continued flippintly. “Everything on this whole island is made of bloody marble.”

“That ‘bloody marble’ is the reason we live in a castle by the sea,” Brienne said dryly, watching as the princesses’ dressmaker pinned a bit of crimson colored silk this way and that while Joanna stood as still as she could, arms outstretched. “It’s what kept hundreds of generations of our people fed, its kept roofs over their head, and its kept our men working an honest trade.”

She was glad to see her daughter had the grace to look ashamed at the comment before she recovered. “I also decided the dress will be gold and rose colored, then my maiden's cloak red and blue, maybe some antlers going down the sleeves like the way you had lions going down yours?”

“That could be pretty.” 

Brienne had given up reminding Joanna that there were still no word from the Lord and Lady of Stormsend regarding the betrothal because, no matter what the argument, she only said ‘father promised’, and went on with her flights of fancy. 

Joanna grinned at her mother before she turned her head back around straight. “Then for decorations I’m thinking red silk on the pews and then the WHOLE sept would be covered in red and yellow roses.”

The knight flinched. “No roses.”

“Why?”

“Because.” 

Joanna rolled her eyes to the marble ceiling above her. “I’ll never understand why you hate roses so much,” she muttered.

“It’s a long story. But… please? No roses?”

The young lioness sighed, as if cancelling wedding plans for a wedding that might not even happen was the biggest inconvenience of her young life. “Fine. Maybe some that are indeginous to Stormsend instead? Oh!” A toothy smile replaced her annoyed expression. “How about flowers from all around the Stormlands? I’m going to be marrying the Warden of the East, I’m going to be the Lady of Stormsend, why not represent all my lesser lords?”

“Vassals,” Brienne corrected Joanna gently. “You call your vassals ‘lessers’ you’re going to be looking at a rebellion sooner rather than later.”

“Sorry, Mother,” she said, not sounding sorry in the least. “But wouldn’t that be a nice way to represent them?”

“It would,” she agreed.  _ Please let them say yes. Please. Don’t let her dreams go to waste. _

The imported dressmaker stood up from where she was kneeling and circled a perfectly still Joanna, eyeing the dress and fit, the way the silky fabric draped across her waist...“I’m gonna have to drape the sleeves a bit more dramatically,” the dressmaker, Larra, said in her flavored Lysenne accent. “It’ll make them your shoulders a little less broad. Plus it’ll take attention off your hips a bit which is something you desperately need.”

Brienne pursed her lips at the woman who was scrutinizing her daughter. Jon warned Brienne when she wrote and asked to borrow his daughters tailor for a few weeks that she wouldn’t mince words and Joanna would need to have a thick skin if she wanted a dress from her.

Joanna blushed and bowed her head but said nothing, choosing instead to just nod. After the first day when she had been nearly reduced to tears Brienne asked her if she was sure she still wanted to work with Larra and the lioness had insisted she did so here they were two weeks later.

The dressmaker circled her again, reaching out and pinning a long bit of lower fabric back. “Gods preserve you child, apart from your mother you have the longest legs I’ve ever seen. Do you know how many women would kill for those legs?” 

Joanna blushed even deeper and managed a tiny smile. “Thank you.”

“I’m thinking of giving it a slit right about here,” the dressmaker mused, touching a half an inch above the knee.

“She a highborn lady,” Brienne said sharply. “She doesn’t need to be showing off anything.”

“You’re the one who made her two inchs shy of six foot, not I,” Larra challenged. “Without the slit it’ll just look like one long piece of fabric with no nuance. You are paying me for my work and my opinion, that is my opinion on what will make this dress work best.”

“Mother, please,” Joanna begged. “I’ve done everything you asked, I practice with the dagger twice a week without complaining… You promised I could have a dress made from her.”

“And you can, just… I don’t want anything inappropriate is all.”

Larra sighed, muttering something in a foreign language that Brienne could only guess was a complaint about the restrictions before she switched back to the common tongue. “I can make her a pair of silk stockings as well. Something dark that could go midway up her thigh. The dress will still have its slit, but her flesh will be covered.”

Joanna pleases with her mother again, threw out another desperate ‘please’ and pouted her plump lips. 

Brienne rubbed her temples and conceded with a sigh and a grumbled, “not one inch above the knee.”

After the fitting Larra promised the gown would be done by the time they left for Stormsend and then headed out to continue her work, Joanna left for her harp lessons, her long slender fingers were perfect for the large instrument, and Brienne made her way to the training yard where Galladon was grunting and fighting as hard as he could, his tourney sword a blur of grey blunted steel. 

“I think he actually stands a chance at the melee,” Brienne mused to Jaime as they watched him fight, pride soaring in both of their hearts as they watched their son swing the sword as graceful as an artist would use a brush. “I know he’s only fourteen but-.”

“I was thirteen when I won my first tourney,” Jaime reminded her. “He’s got the added benefits of your genes as well.” 

Brienne shared a soft smile with her husband before they turned back to watch their oldest boy for a while before Jaime pulled a ravens scroll with the Lions sigil on the broken seal. “Tyrion sent me this today,” he said as Brienne took it and began to read. “He thinks we should send Galladon to squire for him. Truth be told it wouldn’t be such a bad idea.”

She shook her head, not even finishing the rest of the flowered words. “No.”

“He’s going to move to Casterly Rock when he’s married anyway.”

“I’m not sending away my son,” Brienne said, struggling to keep the sharpness from her tone. “No earlier than he needs to be. I have two years left with him, at sixteen he’ll be wed and I’ll hardly ever see him after that.”

“I thought they said two years after Catelyn’s flowered?”

Brienne pulled out her own raven scroll. “It arrived this morning. It happened two weeks ago, which means I only have two more years with him before he leaves me, and I can’t let him go earlier than that, Jaime, I can’t.”

Jaime wrapped his arms around Brienne, pulling her as close as his armor would allow. “He’s going to be Lord of Casterly Rock, Brienne. How can he learn to rule when he’s only been there twice? We don’t know how to play the great game, but Tyrion does and Galladon is going to HAVE to learn if he means to be Warden of the West and Lord of the Rock, and that has to happen before he comes of age. He won’t be a boy forever.”

Brienne bit her lip, looking over at the cub she had held and swaddled and fed at her own breast, the one who came into the world as silent as the grave for the longest moments of the Evenstars life. Tyrion wanted to take her son, her first son. It was already killing her that she was sending him across the continent with a new bride at sixteen but to send him away at fourteen? Catelyn Stark sent her girls away when they were young and the Lady of Winterfell never saw them again. What if something happened to Brienne? Or worse, what if something happened to Galladon?

But Jaime had a point, as reluctant as she was to admit it. Many highborn lords were fostered as squires across the country. Jaime had been sent away to squire at another Westerland Lord at eleven and Eddard Stark has been sent away at young age of eight and Robert Baratheon at the age of 10. Even little Robin Arryn was going to be fostered with Stannis at the age of seven.

_ And to this day he’s mocked as the boy who never came from behind his mothers skirts and has less respect than a whore doing her trade in a sept because she wouldn’t let him go... _

Brienne frowned at the young boy, watching as he struck his sharp blows against the unlucky opponent. “When would be have to leave?”

“A month after the tourney. We’d see him at Joanna’s wedding but…”

“But other than that, it’s goodbye until his wedding in Casterly Rock.” Jaime nodded and she bit her lip against the sudden appearance of tears, forcing them back. She would not let her eyes get wet, not in front of her children. 

_ He’ll be shamed if I force him to stay. He won’t be respected by the lords sworn to him. The west deserves a Great Lord who knows their land and customs as much Tycen knows Tarth.  _

Brienne said nothing, just called a halt to Galladon’s fighting and watched as he jogged over to them. She reached out, ruining a calloused hand through his golden hair and took a deep breath, ignoring the strange look her son was giving her. “Galladon How… How would you like to squire for your uncle Tyrion?”

Galladon looked between his parents. “I’d go to Casterly Rock before I was wed?”

Brienne nodded. “After the tourney. Would you be okay with that?” she asked, half hoping he would say no.

“Your uncle could teach you what it means to be Warden of the West,” Jaime added. “What it means to truly rule over the West, to learn the politics, to deal with the other great lords of Westeros... that’s something you’re gonna have to learn and your mother or I aren’t that well versed at.”

The small lion,  _ too small to leave _ , shrugged. “Okay. Yeah, that’s fine.”

Brienne ran her hand through his golden hair again and she drew a smile that didn’t come close to reaching her eyes on her lips. “I do have some more good news though. Lady Sansa ravened- She said that Catelyn flowered.”

Galladon blinked, his face blank as a slab of marble. “...And?”

“And that means in two years you’re to be married,” Jaime finished for her with a grin. “She’s going to be yours and you’re going to be hers in two years… aren’t you excited?”

He shrugged again. “I only met her twice. The betrothal and then the last time we were at Kingslanding…”

“You’re going to see her at the tourney,” Brienne reminded him. “If you win name her Queen of Love and Beauty. Give her a flower before you enter the ring, and wear her favor. Get to know her, spend time with her, sit next to her at the feast… Don’t spend all your time with the prince this time around, last time you barely left his side.”

“But it’s HIS name day,” her son argued.

“Yes and you’re betrothed is going to be there as well. It’s said that Catelyn is a true Northern beauty,” Brienne told a less than enthusiastic Galladon, hoping to get him a little excited. “She’s kind, she’s intelligent, she’s gentle but fierce, she’s highborn...”

“She’s everything you could ever want in a woman,” the green eyed knight added.

Galladon frowned down at the ground for a moment before he looked back up at his parents. “May I get back to training?”

Brienne waved him back and he hurried back over to the opponent he had been swinging a sword at. When he was out of range she turned to Jaime. “You’d think we were asking him to sword fight blindfolded.”

“He’ll come around,” said Jaime. “He’s going to see Lady Cat at the tourney in her new dress, he’ll spend some time with her and by the time we head back to Tarth he’s going to be begging to stay with her.”

“I hope you’re right.” Brienne turned to face him. “Speaking of growing up, I’m taking Tycen with me tonight.”

“You think he’s old enough?”

Brienne nodded. “He’s eleven years old. He’s going to learn sometime. It’s like you said… they won’t be boys forever.”

Later on that night after Brienne sent a message to Tyrion saying they accepted the offer; she and Tycen donned leathers and silks of black with Oathkeeper secures at her waist and a small dagger with a golden sun pommel in Tycen’s scabbard. The only decoration between the two of them a silver crescent clasp holding her heavy velvet cloak dotted with stars around her long neck. Beside her Tycen sat atop his brown foal, a sweat broken out on his pale forehead.

“I don’t think I can do this,” he told her before the shadow of Evenfall was at their backs, swallowing a hard lump in his throat. “What if I mess up? What if I say the wrong thing?”

“You won’t,” Brienne assured him as they turned onto the street.

“What if I make things worse? Mother please, I don’t want to do this.”

Brienne rounded her horse on her cub. She didn't judge him for being scared. The first time she had to do what she was asking Tycen to do she was twelve, barely a year older than him, and she was trembling so bad that the widow actually asked Brienne if she was alright. She would have ran from the house if not for her father's firm hold on her shoulder and she had to bite back sobs the whole ride back to Evenfall.

Tycen seemed close to tears now and all Brienne wanted was to gather her boy in her arms and gallop as fast as she could back to Evenfall. But she couldn’t. If Galladon was old enough to be sent away, Tycen was old enough for this. 

“You’ll do fine, my little love. I promise. I wouldn’t take you with me if I didn’t think you couldn’t get handle it.”

She wheeled back around and the two continued their journey inland, stopping only for a quick lunch of bread and fried sausages, and finally reached their destination. It was a rundown one room shack, with broken windows and a patched roof, with overgrown vegetation and weeds surrounding the house, as were a few number of houses that were more inland. It was a world away from the seaside castle just two hours away. 

Tycen was trembling so hard Brienne had to help him from his horse and she stood in front of him, smoothing back his hair. “You’ll do fine,” she told him gently. “You will, my little love, I promise.”

He hid behind her while she went and knocked on the ramshackle door. A moment later a small skinny middle aged woman answered the door wearing a roughspun dress dyed black and a black wool cloak wrapped around her. Her pale grey eyes were red and raw, evidence of her mourners tears. After the shock of seeing the Evenstar and her future lord at her door she remembered her courtesy.

“M’lady,” she greeted Brienne with a nod of her head, voice muffled with grief. She turned to Tycen and repeated the gesture. “M’lord. Can I help you?”

“My Lady,” Brienne greeted, a term of courtesy she was afforded the lowborn woman for what was probably the first time in her life, with a bow with Tycen quickly following suit and repeating her words. “Might we come in?”

The older woman, Corenna, nodded and moved out of the way. Brienne had to duck to come in and even then her head almost touched the ceiling. There were three beaten down mismatched chairs in front of a smokey fireplace that had a black kettle of something or other that didn’t smell particularly pleasant bubbling over the flames, a straw stuffed mattress in the corner and not much else. 

Corenna offered the chair closest to the fire o Brienne who thanked her but offered the seat to her son instead. “I- I’m afraid I don’t have much in the way of food or drink but I do have some ale or- or some water.”

“A cup of water would be lovely, thank you,” Brienne answered, thinking it would help Tycen to have something to busy his fidgeting hands. “Do you need any help?”

“No, M’lady, it’s no trouble. I just need to go draw some from the well out back.” 

With another curtsy the woman hurried from the room and when they were alone Brienne quickly turned to Tycen. “Whatever that water tastes or looks like, you drink it without complaint,” she warned him, her voice barely loud enough for him to hear much less the woman they were visiting. “Do not embarrass her, do you understand me?”

“Yes mother,” he said quickly.

To the boys credit he drank the silty queer flavored water without complaint or hesitation and gave his thanks before and after. When Brienne was finished she folded her large hands in her lap. Gods she hated this part of being the Evenstar. But she owed it to the families of those who perished in the mines that made her family Kings and Queens, Lords and Ladies and to look them in the eye and share in their families grief. She was just thankful there were no children involved this time. Those were the visits that always had her sobbing in her saddle on the way back to Evenfall, that crushed her heart and made her want to father her little pride in her arms and never let them go.

“My son and I came here to tell you how sorry we were to hear about your husband,” Brienne said, her voice gentle as a still pond. 

Corenna bowed her head, fresh tears rushing to grey eyes. “Thank you, M’lord,” she muttered. “M’lady.”

“I heard from the foreman he was a good man,” Brienne continued with a sad smile. “A good man with an impeccable sense of humor.”

Corenna laughed, the kind of laugh that threatened to turn to sobs in half a heartbeat, still not looking up from the unswept floor. “It’s true. John never found himself a situation he couldn’t laugh at.”

“My husband’s the same,” Brienne said with a short lived grin. “No matter how pompous or serious the circumstances, Ser Jaime can somehow manage to make a joke and find the humor in the darkest parts of the world.”

“John he- His father’s funeral was a few months ago. The damned man had  _ my _ side splitting.” Her lip trembled and a tear rolled down her face. “It was his father that was gone, and he was trying to make  _ me _ laugh. Right there in the front of the sept during the seventh hymn, he whispered a joke to me. The Septon heard and then HE was trying not to laugh, which of course made the whole bloody sept crack up, and there we were, at a funeral in our mourning clothes laughing.” She swiped at a tear only to have two more replace it. “There was no laughing at Johns service. And no-... no laughter here as well these last two weeks…”

A heavy silence hung in the air. Corenna covered her mouth with a shaking wrinkled hand as more tears leaked down her face.

“My Lady,” Brienne said softly as the widows tears threatened to give way to sobs, “I am so-.”

“A Lannister, a Martell and a Stark are the only survivors of a shipwreck.”

Both Brienne and Corenna turned towards the young boy who had just quickly uttered his first words since he climbed down off his horse. Tycen’s hands was clutching the clay cup as tight as he could, avoiding both of their curious glances. “Though the ordeal has bonded them like brothers they're all now dying of thirst until one day a sorceress of Asshai comes to them and offers them each two wishes. 

The Lannister wishes for a bottle of the Arbors finest white and to be back home in Casterly Rock where he belongs.

‘Done!’ says the sorceress, and the last thing the Martell and the Stark see is the Lannister taking a big swig of wine as he disappears.

The Martell goes next. He wishes for a bottle of sweet Dornish red and to be back with his wife and son in Sunspear.

The sorceress waves her hand and the Martell fades from existence drinking greedily.

‘And yourself?’ asks the sorceress of the Stark. The Northman thinks for a moment.

‘How about a big jug of proper Northern ale?’ The bottle appears before him almost instantaneously.

‘And your second wish?’

‘Well you can’t drink this kind of vintage without company. I want me two best friends back to enjoy it with me.’”

There was another silence that enveloped the group, but a different type of silence then before. It was less heavy, almost thin enough to be as light as air. Tycen blushed that famous scarlet Tarth blush traveled all the way from the top of his forehead down his neck. He opened his mouth and closed it several times, his embarrassment burning as bright as a Dornish sun. For- forgive me, My Lady,” Tycen muttered, not taking his eyes away from the floor. “I just- you- you said you hadn’t lau- laughed in a whole so I thought perhaps a- a joke...”

Brienne looked towards Corenna who was still staring at her young lord, not quite sure what to make of the tall blonde boy. The Evenstar opened her mouth to apologize for her sons behavior when her lips flickered upward, further and further until she was grinning at Tycen and then she threw her head back and laughed. It was loud and hearty, a perfect match to a man who had spent his life with a joke on his lips, and only the faintest edges were brushed with mourners tears, and it filled the room.

Brienne saw Tycen breathe a sigh of relief before he smiled a wide toothy grin at the older woman while the Evenstar reached out and rubbed her sons shoulder, just as proud if not more so of him right then as when she saw him defeat an opponent in the training yard.

When the laughter died down at last, Brienne reached into her cloak and retrieved a tightly rolled scroll with the mark of Tarth, blue colored sealing wax with a crescent moon, and handed it to the now far more at ease woman.

“My Lady, I know I can never bring back your husband,” Brienne said, and the mood sombered considerably but less than it had been when they first arrived. “I know that no amount of gold will be able to fill your heart, and I cannot tell you how sorry I am that the mine he worked at for years claimed his life far too early. But House Tarth rewards those who served them faithfully.” She handed over the scroll. “You will live one year tax free, so you can get back on your feet, and the mines will be paying you twice your husband’s salary for so long as you live on the island.”

Brienne watched Corenna’s face as she read the scroll that outlined the same deal that she just said out loud. Tears rushed to her grey eyes that fell quickly with no chance of recovery. “Truly?” the widow choked out, looking up from the paper. “Truly, M’lady? You... I haven’t… I didn’t know where any money would-...”

“You don’t have to worry about that now,” the tall knight assured her. Her smile was full of warmth and compassion and kindness. “You don’t have to worry about anything anymore. House Tarth is going to take care of you.  _ I’m  _ going to take care of you, me and Ser Jaime both.”

Corenna stood up as quick as she had in recent years and rushed over to Brienne, throwing her long spidery arms around her and weeping into her broad shoulder, showering the Evenstar with her unending thanks and praise and tears. Brienne stiffened before she forced her arms to move and return the embrace, still as awkward and uncomfortable with strangers touching her as she had been when her father’s men would kiss the back of her hand.

After all the thank you’s and tears, and with a promise she would send a mason down to help with repairs on the tiny little hovel, Brienne and Tycen began their ride home. A full moon was shining down on them, the stars littered the sky in the millions and while the view was beautiful, the area they would be riding through to get back home was far less pleasant, with seedy looking men and women of less than reputable reputations walking the dark streets. Brienne fell back beside her cub, gripping Oathkeeper’s golden hilt tightly and shooting a lionesses glare at an older man with blue stained Shade of the Evening lips that she noticed was eyeing Tycen’s handsome saddle that was more than like to be worth more than a years salary to a fair number of those who lived inland.

Brienne reached over with her boot and gave a little kick to her unsuspecting sons horse who hurried into a fast trot with his mother beside him, gripping her valyrian steel as tight as her strength would allow.

When they reached a slightly more reputable town closer to the shore, she urged him to slow and her let sword fall back into its scabbard. Thankfully an inn wasn’t too far away and they stabled their horses, paid the innkeep for a dry but well seasoned capron and then were on their way again. When they finally came to the trail with no houses, no people, no anything but the heavens above them and open road before them that would take them back to Evenfall.

“Do you understand why I had you come with me rather than Galladon?” she finally asked him in the silence of the night.

“... Galladon wouldn’t have known what to do to make her feel better?” he offered. 

“No. Think, Tycen; why did I take you and not your brother? He’s the oldest son, why you and not him? It’s because he’s the heir to Casterly Rock,” Brienne finally answered after a stretch of silence. “And  _ you _ are the heir to Tarth, Tycen.  _ You _ will wield Moonbright when your father passes,  _ you _ will carry the title of Evenstar,  _ you  _ will work a year in the mines to know the trade that made  _ your _ island wealthy and made your ancestors Lords and Kings. There’s a reason why your father and I had the Septon christen you Tycen of Tarth rather than Tycen Lannister; because Tarth will belong to  _ you _ . And all those workers in the mines break their backs so you can live in a castle by a sea and sleep in a feather bed every night with a full stomach and have servants tend to your every whim.” 

He bowed his head and the guilt was eating at him, she knew, but he had to hear this. “Which means,” Briemme continued with breaking her stride. “When one of  _ your  _ people dies in  _ your _ mine which  _ you _ are supposed to make sure is safe,  _ you _ owe it to their family to let them look upon your face and  _ you _ owe it to them to try to make it right.” Brienne reached out and stroked his pale straw colored hair. “The same as I do, my little cub, the same as I’m going to do until the Stranger takes me from this world.”

Tycen didn’t lift his head or speak for a long while. When he finally did his words were choked with fear. “That’s… a lot of responsibility…”

“It is,” she agreed. “But when the time comes, I know you’ll be ready for it.”

“I-... Galladon, he always tells me how I’ll have an easy job. That I won’t have to do a whole lot, I’ll only be lord over an island whereas he’ll be Warden of the West and Lord of the Rock, but… that-.”

“The three thousand people on this island have just as much a need of a good lord and good guidance as the three hundred thousand men Galladon is going to rule over,” she interpreted, trying not to sound angry at the implication of what her oldest son had said. “Also ask your Uncle Tyrion how many of the smallfolk in Casterly Rock he knows. Ask him how many of the middling lords he knows in the West period. I bet it won’t be a fraction as many people as you or I know in Tarth.”

Tycen nodded, still not looking up from the soft warm earth. “I know. He just always tends to make my lordship look small.” She swore, even in the pale moonlighting, she saw tears shine in his eyes. “He makes everything I do seem small…”

Brienne frowned at her son for a moment before she finally reached over and lifted his head with her fingers beneath his chin. “Nothing about what you will do is small, Tycen. You’re a brilliant swordsman, you’re a handsome rider-.”

“Not as good as he is. I’m not that fast, I’m not that strong, I’m not smart...”

“First off don’t you ever disparage yourself again,” she said sharply, years and years of pain and self doubt clouding her ability to be anything less than abrupt. “I won’t let my children talk badly about themselves, do you understand me?” She waited for a nod. “Perhaps that’s what made Galladon such a little peacock but I’d rather have my children be peacocks then be someone who doesn’t see their worth, and you  _ do _ have worth, Tycen. So you may not be as good as your brother, perhaps you never will, but he is not the end all be all when it comes to swordplay or riding or anything else.” 

Brienne graciously ignored the tears rolling down his face as well as his haste in wiping them away. “You are kind, you are smart, you are honorable, you are a  _ good person _ , Tycen. You will be a knight someday, not just a lord. You will earn the title ‘Ser’ while he won’t.”

“Only because he doesn’t want to,” he muttered.

“He doesn’t want it because he doesn’t want to work for that it or live up to the ideals of what a knight is supposed to be. Even if he came to me tomorrow and asked me to knight him I would tell him no.”

Tycen blinked up at his mother. “Truly?”

“Truly. He doesn’t have knightly ideals, true knightly ideals, ideals that I see you carry everyday in every action.”

Even with only the faint moonglow and starlight, she saw a smile grow on his plump lips. 

Brienne didn’t tell him that because Galladon was going to be a Great Lord and was going to play the great game she didn’t exactly want him to be as honorable as her second son was. Jaime explained why that was a good thing once when they were discussing this very thing; Galladon’s occasional willingness to set aside his honor.

Ned Stark was a Great Lord of a Great House like Galladon would be one day. Ned Stark tried playing the game the honorable way. Ned Stark tried playing the game the knightly way… And Ned Stark lost his head for it.

Brienne reached over and ran a gloved hand through his straw colored hair once more before she gave him a soft gentle smile. “Come on, little love. Let’s get back home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know, not a lot of plot advancement, very little Braime, this was more of a filler chapter than anything... I’m sorry ☹️ Things will hopefully get moving faster sooner rather than later though, but I hope you’re enjoying the cub fluff until then ❤️


	3. Letters I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay; SO... I debated back and fourth, back and fourth, back and fourth with this. The way it was originally written was there would have had huge chunks of exposition and it just wouldn’t work or behave right at all. So I decided to take out the stuff surrounding the letters and just post them and *grits teeth* explain in the author’s note that Galladon has dyslexia just like his father does which is why his ravens aren’t actually misspelled, but the letters are switched around. There’s nothing wrong with your phones or the chapters, that’s how it was written.

_ My eternal lvoe; _

_ I msis you, Robb. I miss you. I msis you. I miss you. My parents are taknlig aobut sending me to Casterly Rcok to be fostered by Tyrion. While I’ll stlil be away from you I’ll have more freedom so paherps I cluod viist you on my own. If not, know taht you are in my dearms; now and alyaws. _

_My mother told me Catelyn has flowewrd wihch means in two years we’re to be wed. I don’t want to. I sonud like a child, I know, but I don’t love her. I can’t love her, I lvoe you. Only you. Eervy night I dream of going to Essos with you wrhee we mihgt be aceectpd and I wlduon’t hvae to marry her. _

_ Let Tycen hvae Casterly Rock, let Joanna or Tlyah’s husnbad have Tarth, all I want is you. I colud be a sell sword, you colud jsout… Who craes if we’ve braely come of age, Lady Sansa was married to my unlce wehn she was 14, who's to say you and I cudoln’t do the smae? I don’t wnat stolen moments once in a geart whlie, I don’t want hidden romcnae and secrets and scandals. I jsut wnat you to be mine and for me to be yuors. I love you, I lvoe you, I lvoe you. I can’t wiat unitl I’m able to see you aigan. _

_ But enough of taht. How is your jousting gonig? I remembe you said in yuor lsat raven you got a new yearling taht wsan’t qiute behaving but you wree hopeful she’d be ready by the time you rdoe in the joust. I look foawrrd to seeing you ride in yuor tourney (just as I hpoe you look forward to seeing me spar in the melee.) My mother and father instructed me to give my fvaor to Cat and if I win to name her Queen of Love and Bateuy. While I’ll play the part, know that I’ll be wearing your faovr in my herat and I wuold name you King of Love and Strength any day. _

_ Love, _

_ Galladon. _

* * *

_ My dearest Ned, _

_ I’m writing this the night before we leave for Stormsend. I’m told there’s to be a number of the Stormland Lord’s and Ladies there. Hopefully you and I can still make time for one another (as you always tend to do.) _

_ I remember when you and your family first came to Tarth for the Evenstar feast. I was shy of my seventh nameday, you were shy of your sixth, but you still rescued my doll from the stable boy who was teasing me and stole it. I knew from that day forward that you were my knight in shining armor, and you’ve proven yourself to live up to that standard time and time again. _

_ I can’t wait for the tourney in Kingslanding for Prince Robb’s coming of age to see you fight again. You’ll win against all the rest of the knights and I’ll be there in the front row to see it all and cheer you to glory. It’s all going to be splendid and beautiful, I know it will. _

_ I can’t wait to see you. Perhaps soon you could come out to Tarth and I could show you around again. It’s not near as big or nice as Stormsend, as I’m sure you recall, but there is some nice quiet places I could take you where the two of us could be alone. Trust me when I say how eagerly I count the moments until we can be together again. _

_ Faithfully yours, _

_ Your loving Joanna. _

* * *

_ Lady Catelyn, _

_ My mtoehr and fthear hvae intrsteucd me to wrtie this message to you in hopes that you and I might get to know one another better borefe the winddeg. _

_ I’m ernetnig the melee at Pnirce Robb’s conmig of age toureny. I look frwoard to sneeig you at Kniisngdnlag aaign. I wuold be hnrooed to waer yuor foavr, if you wolud be wnlliig to give it, of coruse. _

_ I eerglay aawit the opportunity to look uopn yuor fcae aigan. It is siad you are a ture Northern bautey, but I’m sure the wdros of oterhs haven’t done your fair features jtsucie. _

_ Cordially yours, _

_ Galladon Lannister of the Isle Tarth _

* * *

_ Joanna, _

_ I’m so sorry for the short letter, but I just received your raven and I am desperate that this reaches you before you leave for Stormsend. If it does be assured I miss you as well and I can’t wait to see you, but you _ ** _CANNOT_ ** _ come to Stormsend with your family. I begged my mother not to do this but she didn’t listen to me. Over and over I begged but she either is genuinely daft and doesn’t understand why this would embarrass you and yours, I doubt it, or she simply wants to humiliate your family for the grudges she hold onto as tight as a poor man holds onto a piece of silver. _

_ Please don’t be angry at me. Please don’t hate me. I tried to stop it I did, I swear it by the Old Gods and the New. If you only come across this letter after you make your way back home I’m sorry. I’m sorry a thousand times over. Forgive me. Please. _

_ Your either apologetic or relieved friend, _

_ Ned Baratheon. _

* * *

_ The crowned wolf kisses freedom. The red wolf has the loyalty of the pack. Dawnbringer mates with the stag in the east, but all of them are blind to what lies beyond their eyes. Nāpāstre is alone in the west. It’s brother and heirs stay ignorant and helpless in the curve of the crescent moon. The time to stroke is upon us. The time for revenge is in our grasp. _

_ The time for fire and blood to come back to Westeros is near. _

_ Dracarys. _

  
  



	4. Chapter 4

“What are you doing?”

Galladon raised a brow as Tylah pulled her hand out of his sea chest he caught her snooping through as he stood in the doorway to his cabin.

Out of the whole Tarth pride, apart from Galladon,bthe young girl looked the most like their father (and a world of difference from her thick bodied twin.) Soft golden hair that fell to her shoulders, emerald green eyes and sharp features with a sharp wit to match. She was decent with a sword, more than decent with a bow, and no one alive could remember seeing her in a gown once she was old enough to dress herself.

“Joanna wanted me to tell you we’re about to dock. She’s already having half a meltdown over this and wants everything to go ‘perfect’.” Tylah rolled her eyes to the wooden ceiling as the deck beneath their feet they were on gently rocked and cradled them. “This is why I’m never getting married,” she grumbled, ignoring his huff of annoyance as she sat down in the chair he was about to take a seat in. “Boys make girls act stupid.”

He went over and shut his sea chest closed, relieved to find that it wasn’t nearly disturbed enough for her to be able to find his half finished letter to Robb. “You will be married someday, mother and father just haven’t been able to find someone who wants to marry someone as annoying as you.” 

“Nuh uh. I’m gonna be the first girl ranger in the Nightswatch,” she told him, swinging off one of the large wooden posts on his four poster bed, effectively ignoring the insults. “Nightswatch don’t get married.”

“We don’t have a Nightswatch anymore,” he reminded her, sitting down on his bed and pulling on his boots. “Arya Baratheon killed the Nightking and the Wildlings are free to come and go into the North as often as they please considering one of them is our Queen.”

“... Oh. Well then I’m gonna be the first… something. But I’m not gonna get married and be the perfect little proper lady like Joanna.” Tylah mimicked gagging and Galladon rolled his eyes.

“Please just get out.”

She flopped down on the bed next to him. “Why?”

“Because I’m asking you.”

“No thank you.” She giggled that infuriating giggle of hers. “You look like Mother when you get angry, your face gets all blotchy.”

“I’m angry because you’re being obnoxious and childish.”

“Am not.”

“Get  _ out,  _ Tylah!”

“Nope.”

“Get out or I’ll tell Father you were in here alone.”

_ That did it _ , he thought smugly as a shadow of annoyance crossed her face.

Tylah huffed out a breath as she jumped up from the bed and walked over to his wardrobe, a tall hand cherrywood masterpiece with lions, suns and crescent moons carved into the wood and leaned against it and he groaned louder.

“Will you PLEASE just get out?”

“Why?”

He drew himself up to his fullest most impressive height. Fourteen and already quickly creeping up on six foot. “Because I’m the oldest son and heir which means you have to do what I say.”

“That’s so true,” she said dryly, not even a hint of a shadow of respect for his birthright in her voice. “In fact let’s go tell our mother, the first female Evenstar in 800 years and the first female knight ever, that I have to listen to you because you’re a boy.”

“Tylah, please,” he sighed, practically begging now. “Will you  _ please _ get out?”

“No.”

“Tylah!”

“What is going on?!” 

Both Galladon and Tylah turned and saw a very unamused Joanna standing in the doorway, arms crossed in front of her meager excuse for a chest. “Why are you two arguing?” she demanded. “We’re ten minutes away from docking!”

Tylah blinked. “So?”

“So stop it! I swear to the Mother if you embarrass me in front of Ned or Lord and Lady Baratheon-!”

“No ones going to embarrass you in front of your precious Ned,” Tylah grumbled. She pushed herself off the wardrobe and stormed out of the room, leaving her two oldest siblings bewildered.

“What in the seven hells is her problem?” Galladon grumbled once she had gone.

“Who knows,” Joanna said with a flippant wave of her hand. “I just know I was never that obnoxious or bratty as a child.” He nearly choked on the laughter he had to bite back. “Anyways… are you all ready? Because we’re-.”

“Docking in ten minutes, yes, Joanna, I‘m aware.” He got off his bed and took her by the shoulders. “Stop worrying. Things are gonna go fine. I swear it. Ned’s going to love your dress, Lady Arya and Lord Gendry will adore you, and by the time we leave here you will be betrothed.”

She quirked a pale eyebrow at her younger brother. “You’re being uncharacteristically supportive right now…”

The younger cub gave her a sad sort of smile. His mind drifted to his prince, his sweet, smiling prince. “I just think everyone should have a chance to be with the person they love. If I can make that easier for you, I will.”

An hour later the Lannister pride was standing in Stormsend Courtyard standing in the presence of their Liege Lord and Lady and two of their three sons.

Ned Baratheon was nowhere to be found, much to the visible disappointment of Joanna when they rode up from the docks after being met with an envoy who led them to the storm battered ancient castle of the Stormkings and Stormlords. Both sons in attendance, Jon and Robert, were dressed similarly in yellow leathers with the stag sigil on their breast, born of them wide and strong even at thirteen and eleven though not as tall as the Lannister’s. Jon, the older one, had stormy blue Baratheon eyes with smooth shoulder length black hair while Robert had the short cropped black hair of the Stormkings and the wise grey eyes of the ancient Starks. 

The courtyard was a bustle of activity. Squires and pages and stableboys running too and fro, there were shoutings across the yard, horses whinnying… Tarth wasn’t the only Stormland House to be summoned to the great grey fortress, Galladon realized. The Swanns, Selmys, Estermonts… All of the Major Stormland house’s were being hosted here this week.

Something big was happening.

“Lady Arya, Lord Gendry,” their mother began with a low bow. Out of the corner of Galladon’s eye he saw Joanna roll hers when she thought no one was looking, the same as she always did when Brienne would greet others with a bow rather than a proper curtsy. “It’s an honor for my family and I to be hosted in your home. Thank you for inviting us all.”

Arya said nothing in response, just stood there with her hands behind her back, wearing the same plain brown leather shirt she often wore whenever they saw her. Her small skinny ‘Needle’ was at her waist still.

After a moment of rather tense silence Gendry cleared his throat and stepped forward. “Of course, Lady Brienne. The Evenstar and her family are always welcomed at Stormsend. I’m sure you want to freshen up and rest after your long journey?”

“That would be most gracious, My Lord,” Jaime said with a polite nod of his head. “Thank you.”

“Edrich will show you all to your chambers,” said Arya to a passing servent. “And the feast will be at sundown. If that’s all?”

“My Lady?” Joanna asked before either group could walk away, doing her best not to sound nervous or timid. “Your son, Ned, is he… will he be joining us? At the feast?”

“He will,” she answered cooly. “He’s currently on his way to the northern docks, he’s escorting Her Grace Princess Dalla to the castle. I’m afraid he’s going to be gone most of the day.” 

Joanna looked crestfallen for a moment before she forced a polite smile and nodded. “Of course, My Lady. I’m sure the future Lord of Stormsend has many important things on his plate.”

“That he does, Lady Joanna.” Arya looked to Edrich and just nodded before turning back to the family. “I hope you enjoy the hospitality of Stormsend.”

Without another word Arya turned and walked away, and after a quick bow Gendry and the two boys followed.

“Friendly as ever,” he heard his father mutter, earning a light slap on his chest and a hissed ‘stop it’ from his mother. They followed the serving boy into the castle, a large grey stone monolith, beaten and battered by a lifetime of storms like the one threatening to pour over them now, but it held as fast and strong as ever. There was one lonely tower atop a massive grey square slab, and the pride of lions followed the serving boy up, up and up the stairs. There were tapestries of showing the war between Durran Godsgrief and the Sea and Wind Gods, other Stormkings Galladon had no idea who they were doing heroic deeds, even tales of the Lightning Wars where, as thanks for Tarth’s loyalty to their Liege Lord, the sword his father wore at his hip was forged. 

A tapestry showing Durran the Fair standing tall and strong on his wedding day to the daughter of King Edwyn Evenstar hung proudly on the wall as well. It showed a beautiful tall blonde with remarkable blue eyes dressed in yellow and black silks and an antlered crown atop her brow named Karinne looking up at her new king with reverence and love and adoration. It was a world away from the Tapestry in Evenfall outside of Galladons chambers where Karinne, wearing a rose colored gown and a crown of sapphires, gazed sorrowfully back at her Island as the handsome smirking Durran manhandled his new bride and half dragged the last Tarth princess down the sept aisle. 

The version most of Westeros was told was the princess had willingly jumped into the arms of the handsome Durran, and the Evenstar had graciously given her away and looked on with pride at the gallant match. The truth was the Stormking had wanted a piece of the marble trade and threatened the island with war if they didn’t submit. He told the last Tarth king he was taking the fair maid Karinne as his Queen, a hostage in all but name, to keep the island in line. But the Durrandons and Baratheons painted a picture of love and respect and mutually benefiting partners enough times that the actual tale was all but lost to everyone who didn’t live on the sapphire isle. When asked why, if it was a marriage based on love and respect, would Tarth need to abdicate their royal status when they were the third wealthiest house in the Stormlands and had no problem surviving on their own with the marble trade, most just shrugged it off as ‘coincidence’ and went about their day.

_ It’s disgusting how they distort history just to make themselves look better,  _ Galladon thought bitterly, watching his mother raise a pale brow at the tapestry but saying nothing, the same as she always did whenever they would pass it on their trips to Stormsend.

They were brought up to a long hall of guest chambers in the eastern wing, a well-to-do area of the castle but not near as nice as the Lord’s apartments two floors above them. “Ser Jaime and Lady Brienne, you’re to be in those chambers,” he said pointing to the closest door. “Lord Galladon is to be on your left, Lady Joanna on your right and your youngest besides her, then Lord Tycen and Lady Tylah you’re in those two.” He pointed to two chamber doors right beside one another and Galladon already knew what was going to be the end result before his father even opened his mouth. 

“Tylah and Alysanne switch,” Jaime said without so much as blinking an eye, earning an eye roll from the younger green eyed twin. “Tylah you’ll be on one end of the hall, Tycen you’ll be on the other.”

“Father, we’re not children anymore,” Tylah complained. “We aren’t going to yell through the walls anymore.”

Every trip to Stormsend, every trip to Casterly Rock, every trip to Kingslanding, every trip anywhere Jaime had the twins sleep on opposite ends of the hall where the family was staying, always with their parents chambers between them. It was always with the same excuse. As children the twins would yell through the walls at one another but Galladon could never hear them, Joanna neither. And the older they got, the more insistent he was on them sleeping on either end of Evenfall and that the twins absolutely were not allowed to be alone in each others chambers. 

He remembered a time when the twins were six and Galladon was nine and a raging storm had terrified Tylah and sent her running into Tycen’s chambers for comfort seeing as how their parents chambers were on another floor and the storm had rendered her too frightened to run down the hall and climb the steps. Their father found them the next morning in bed together cuddled up under the blankets.

Galladon still remembered the shouting, the screaming, the sound of the open handed slap on Tycen’s cheek from their father's hand (the first and only time either parent ever struck them) and his brother’s sobs while Jaime screamed they were NEVER allowed to do that again. Even their mother hadn’t been able to quench his rage and afterwards he stormed off, locking himself in his chambers. After that is when Tylah and Tycen weren’t allowed to be in each others rooms alone, and soon after their chambers had been moved to the opposite ends of Evenfall and a guard, Dustmagget himself, was posted outside of Tylahs room for a time.

There was the reason behind it. A disgusting stomach churning one. One they all knew.

Stannis Baratheon, a kinslayer and a man who used blood magic to try to win the War of the Five Kings, wanted to take the throne away from their cousin Joffrey so he lied and spread a foul untrue rumor that their father and his sister Cersei committed incest and not only that, but he claimed all three of the queens children were the rotten fruit of that union. It was a disgusting falsehood which hadn’t quite died down yet, and he even overheard once in Kingslanding from a peasant that Tylah and Tycen were doing the same acts their father was accused of. That was why Jaime was so adamant in wanting them to stay on the opposite ends of the hall and so insistent that they not be in eachothers chambers alone.

Jaime didn’t want anymore untrue rumors to spread about his children or himself. That was all.

“Just do what your father says,” his mother begged, and it was met with another eye roll from Tylah but no more words were said on the matter.

Galladon’s chambers were rather simple and plain, a four poster bed with furs and a fireplace with a view of the grey rocky shoreline. It was a far cry from the brilliantly crimson and sapphire colored chambers he had at Evenfall with the two marble lions painted gold to guard his entryway that Alysanne had named ‘Lye’ and ‘Inn’ when she was four with a perfect view of the brilliantly blue ocean.

As soon as he was able Galladon donned the armor he brought with him and headed down into the training yard, picking up a blunted tourney sword and swinging it round and getting used to the weight before he called another boy over, a squire boy his age and beating him easily. Two boys around Joanna’s age was next but both of them were quickly vanquished. He smirked as he looked around for his next opponent, feeling alive and free and on top of the world, the same as he always did with a sword in his hand. No man could touch him when he had a sword, no man could beat him, no man could best him, they all moved in slow motion while he sprinted and charged and even laughed as he took them all down without so much as a blink of the eye...

Galladon switched hands, challenging the now impressed yard to go at him with his off hand. That time it took longer than he would have liked or if he had used his sword hand but this one down the same as all the others and he quickly switched hands, this time taking on two on one, both of them men far older and more experienced than him. Upswing, sideslash, overhand, backslash, again and again, over and over until, finally, he yielded out of sheer exhaustion rather than sloppy swordsmanship or an actual loss.

One of the men, an older knight called Pate, grinned at him as they hung their tourney swords up. “You show a lot of promise, Boy,” he said with a curt nod. “You’ll be a knight one day.”

“I’m not a ‘boy’.” He smirked at the man, his grin so sharp it could cut diamonds. “I’m a Lannister. And I’m no knight, I’m a Lord. I have standards.”

“Apologies then, M’lord,” Ser Pate said with an abundance of sarcasm that made Galladon laugh.

“At the end of the day it’s a title that just gives you a little more gold in your purse,” Galladon shrugged. “Anyone can be a knight, most often than not they don’t deserve the title they throw around.”

“For being one of only five children in the world who has two knights as parents you’d think you’d be a bit less jaded.”

Galladon just smiled. “My mother earned the right to be called a knight before she even left Tarth. It took her thirty three years to have the title she earned as a teenager, solely because of her sex. She was more of a knight then anyone alive, she still is… But some of the ‘knights’ who possess less honor than a back alley whore refuse to acknowledge her title, claims she slept with my father just for a knighthood, and has no problem telling her that only to become even more jaded when she beats them in the training yard. So you’ll forgive me,  _ Ser _ , if I don’t cheer on the men who would spit in the face of the only TRUE knight I know just because a sword was touched to their shoulder.”

Without another word the young lord turned and headed back to his chambers. 

Galladon washed the stench of sweat and seawater from himself and combed his hair until its yellow golden color shone as bright as the dawn. He changed from his armor into a doublet of fine, soft crimson velvet with golden threaded lions on either side while a rose colored sword belt was fashioned around his waist and sword with a golden hilt adorned with rubies and sapphires he named ‘Sunroar’ hung in its scabbard. It was a well made sharp piece of red steel with golden colored streaks woven into the metal, and he knew how to use it better than most his age, but it was a stand in. A sword he would have no problem hanging up once his mother’s ashes fell over the Starreach cliffs and Oathkeeper passed to him. 

Just as he was pulling on his boots there were men outside his door, servants or otherwise he wasn’t sure. But what he was sure of was, was the voices that carried into his chamber.

“-I heard Lady Arya talking about it,” a man said. “It’s happening just before dessert.”

“The young bucks finally getting betrothed huh? Hope he likes blondes.”

“ _ Tall _ blondes,” the first man added with a laugh. “Have you seen the legs on her?”

The footsteps barely faded away when the realization of what he had just heard seemed to come crashing down and from the frantic hurried footsteps and suddenly Joanna’s voice was next door in their parents chambers, her voice a high pitched melody of excitement and delight. Galladon ran over to his parents chambers and saw Joanna giddy with excitement as she clasped their equally excited father's hands while Brienne, dressed in a high collared velvet jerkin quartered red and blue with the lions of Lannister and moons of Tarth stitched on, looked on frowning.

Straw colored curls flowed long and thick down Joanna’s back, not a single one out of place, and her new dress was well worth the gold their parents had spent. It was cascading red and gold silk with a slit that landed an inch above her knee showcasing black stockings. It gave her curves where previously there had been none and softened the curves she wanted to hide away, and the way the sleeves and neckline draped it even managed a way to make her shoulders less broad. A faint scent of warm vanilla accompanied her as well.

Joanna even managed to pull off looking delicate and mild, the picture of a perfect southern Lady which was a rather difficult thing for the women and girls in their family to pull off. She may not have been as beautiful as Catelyn Stark or the princess Dalla Stark but she was still pretty enough to turn an eye or two.

“It’s happening tonight!” she squeed in a most unlady-like fashion. “It’s really happening!”

“Joanna, calm down,” Brienne pleaded. “Arya or Gendry haven’t made any mention to us-.”

“We already brought up the subject with them, we told them we would give our consent,” Jaime reminded her. “I know, but-.”

“Mother, please stop worrying. None of the other Lords of the Stormlands have a daughter his age, and I’m the only Lady of a great house who isn’t related to him AND is the right age!”

“I know, but-.”

“If you know then why are you trying to ruin this for me?”

“Don’t use that tone with your mother,” Jaime warned his oldest daughter.

“I’m not trying to  _ ruin _ anything,” Brienne insisted. “But Joanna-.”

“Then let me be happy? Please?”

Galladon watched as his mother sighed and furrowed her pale blonde brow. She closed her eyes and when she muttered she wasn’t going to say anything else and that she truly hoped tonight would have a happy ending, Joanna beamed a toothy smile then threw her arms around their mother’s neck, and then Jaime. 

A half hour later the small family sat in the loud and crowded Great Hall dressed in their finest, a melody of crimson and sapphire leathers, rose and gold silks. Tycen wore a leather doublet quartered rose and azure with iron studded suns and moons of their mother’s house while his twin choose a plain silken rose colored shirt tucked into black breeches and the youngest cub sat beside Brienne in a pale blue lace dress with a silver gemstone crescent moon on the bodice.

Stormsend Great Hall was a large stone round chamber at the base of the castle. Torches lined the walls and candles were scattered every few feet on every table gave the guests more than enough light to see. Stone slab tables carved from the rocks the castle rested on lined the edges of the room and were full to bursting with the Stormlords and their families and men, commoners tasty for a bite of food and a swig of ale. 

Before the meal was placed before them, Gendry had walked in, the princess that Ned had collected earlier on his arm. 

Dalla was beautiful, almost ethereal, with pale blonde hair, even paler than Briennes, in a long plait with solemn serious grey Stark eyes. Her dress was a gorgeous work of grey and white fur. A string of direwolves carved from gleaming white pearls hung around her neck. Even dressed as a royal she was free and fierce, a wild northern beauty. Dalla’s mother Val was sister to the first Dalla who was married to Mance Rayder, a wildling king who was burned alive for not bending the knee to Stannis Baratheon. Mance’s Dalla died when the wildlings attacked the wall and when King Jon rode north for Sansa Stark’s wedding he came back with her sister, the wildling ‘princess’ Val on his arm.

Arya came afterwards on Ned’s arm, who was a good head taller than his mother and looked like he was walking towards his execution rather than a feast. He was handsome, if you liked that stern faced and bulging muscled sort of look. His black hair was cropped bristly short and his arms were as wide around as Galladon’s thighs and the rest of him was as thick as castle walls. He heard stories that he looked remarkably like the Stag King Robert in his youth. His leather doublet was as yellow as a summer sun and the black onyx stag on his chest looked rather menacing in the dim firelight.

His blue eyes caught Joanna’s for half a moment but he quickly turned away, a blush rising to his face. Joanna frowned at the boy who always,  _ always,  _ had a friendly smile for her but only a moment.

“He’s probably just nervous,” she whispered to Galladon as they watched Jon and Robert trail behind their mother and brother and watched as they took their seats. “He’s getting betrothed tonight, that'd make anyone nervous. No matter how happy he is about it on the inside,” she added with a grin.

After the Baratheons were seated they were brought out a thick venison stew with carrots and onions served in crusty trechors of bread, wild turkey basted in bacon fat, salads of green apples and red grapes and roasted pine nuts. Every House brought something for the great feast as well. Roast swan that Lord Gulian Swann has brought from his own personal stock, barrels of salt and herb crusted sunfish from the seas surrounding Tarth, crates and crates of sweet citrus fruits from Estermont, Lord Arstan Selmy (Galladon and the rest’s great uncle) brought hundreds of loaves of thick hearty brown bread made from their miles of wheat fields, and Lord Ronnet Connington brought a handful of small tough chickens the size of desert plates boiled in salt water that no one but the dogs sniffing around seemed to want.

Ronnet Connington was a handsome red headed lord, several years older than their mother, but like all the rest stood a head or so shorter than her. He came to Evenfall one year when Galladon was five and offered his sons, who was ten years of age at the time, hand in marriage to Joanna. Their mother, for some reason, refused to so much as greet him at Evenfalls gate but their father had welcomed him with open arms and listened patiently to his argument for why his son would make the best match for Joanna. The Conningtons had fallen on hard times. They might lose their keep, their lands, they could barely afford the trip to Tarth.

Afterwards Jaime smiled and said the fact that Joanna’s husband would be third in line after Galladon and Tycen to be Lord of the Rock, Warden of the West, the Shield of Lannisport and all the gold and glory that came with it would be a pretty plum for the son of a landed knight. Even if she didn’t inherit Casterly Rock or Evenfall the wealth of both the sapphire isle and the Westerlands would be at the poor Houses disposal.

Jaime climbed down from his spot at the great marble table and walked around to the red headed man, standing right in front of him. For half a moment Galladon thought he might clap him on the shoulder or shake his hand and consent to the match or some other lordly thing.

Jaime smiled before his blue steel hand cracked him across the mouth so hard the other knight crashed to the floor. Galladon stared wide eye and slack jawed as the man climbed, shaking, to his hands and knees.

“That slap is all you will ever have from me,” Jaime told the man at his feet.

“If your daughter is as much of a beauty as her mother.” Connington spat a glob of blood at his father’s boot. “You can keep her.”

Jaime looked at him with more disgust then if he was looking at a year old latrine pit. “If you ever presume to show your face in my Lady wife’s castle again, if you ever step another foot on her island, I will throw you in the dungeons.” He turned towards his two unsullied guards who were barely able to hold back their smirk. “Get this sack of shit out of her keep.”

Galladon thought his mother would chastise his father for assaulting a lord in their home but when Brienne came bursting into the Great Hall a while later with tears in her eyes, she grabbed hold of Jaime’s face and kissed him. Hard, whispering ‘thank you’ and ‘I love you’ over and over while she peppered his face with kisses. 

The ignored Galladon showed himself out at that point. His parents didn’t leave their chambers for two whole days and nine months later their ‘happy little accident’ Alysanne arrived.

As far as Galladon knew the impoverished lord STILL hadn’t managed to find his son a match and had sunk deeper and deeper into debt and were at the point where they were even forced to rent out parts of the crumbling castle just to afford the maintenance and food. 

Joanna barely ate a thing, and instead just kept glancing over at a sullen looking Ned who hardly touched any of the feast. At one point Arya leaned over and whispered something to him and he rolled his eyes but nevertheless cut a bite full of turkey and shoved it into his mouth. When he swallowed he leaned back against his chair with a sour look on his face.

He shouldn’t be this upset, him and Joanna were friends, this should have made him marginally happy… Unless there was another he had his eye on and Joanna would be the one to ruin it. Or… or maybe…

_ Oh no. _

His mother kept glancing between Ned, Arya and Dalla until finally a realizion seemed to strike her just as the last of the dinner dishes were cleared away and the last notes of the odd choice of song ‘Rains of Castamere’ faded away.

“We need to leave,” he heard Brienne hiss at his father. “Jaime, we need to leave  _ now!” _

Arya stood, raising her glass of wine and a hush took over the hall. Brienne buried her head in her hands for a moment before she threw the sharpest glare she could at her Liege Lords wife.

“Lady Joanna Lannister,” said Arya with a sickeningly sweet smile. “Would you please join me up here?”

Joanna went to rise but Brienne grabbed a hold of her hand, big blue eyes pleading. “Don’t go up there,” she begged in a soft whisper. “Please. My little love, please, I don’t want you to be embarrassed.”

“You’re embarrassing me right now, Mother,” she muttered through a forced chuckle, doing her best to pry her hand away.

“Joanna, please-.”

The oldest cub finally managed to yank her hand free, straightened out her gown, and headed up to the head of the table. Galladon swallowed hard as he watched his sister stand besides Arya, nearly a foot taller than the older woman but with none of her cool calmness. Joanna was trying desperately not to smile and was failing tremendously.

“My Lord Husband and I,” Arya began looking around the crowded hall. “Have decided it is long since passed to betrothe our oldest son, your future Liege Lord.”

A loud cheer rose up from the other Stormlords, including his father and siblings but his mother just stared straight ahead, large freckles hand curled into a fist.

She waited until the shouting died down. “We have chosen a beautiful girl for our sons bride. From an old house, a house that has never wavered in their support for House Baratheon. Her parents have already consented to the match and we cannot wait to have her join the family.”

Joanna seemed fit to bursting with pride. Arya turned to the taller girl standing beside her. There was something almost dangerous in her smile. “Lady Joanna; you’re one of my sons best friends.”

“Yes, My Lady,” Joanna replied with a shaking excited voice.

“And it is for that reason…” Her smile grew. “That I am so happy that you’re here for him on this special day.”

Brienne groaned, Galladon’s hand curled into a fist under the table, his father furrowed his brow in confusion, and Joanna blinked. 

“I’m…. I’m sorry, My Lady?” his sister’s voice had taken on a dangerous shake. 

“I wanted you to be one of the first to congratulate him. I know how much you two mean to one another.” Arya turned to the smiling princess; the beautiful (tall and blonde) princess. “Princess Dalla Stark? Ned?”

“Wha-...?” his father breathed as Joanna and Ned both stood and walked over to Arya. Ned didn’t even have the decency to glance over at the heartbroken Joanna. “No, no this doesn’t-... it’s supposed to be Joanna.”

“Princess Dalla of House Stark; providing my son consents to the marriage, I would propose a betrothal between you and Lord Ned of House Baratheon, the Heir to Stormsend and all its lands and the next holder of the title Warden of the East, done so in the sights of Gods and men. Do you accept this union?”

“I do,” Dalla said with a grin, smiling at Ned and taking hold of his hand. Even from where they were sitting Galladon could see the tears gather in Joanna’s blue eyes that she was fighting with everything she had against falling.

Arya turned to Ned. “Lord Ned of House Baratheon, the Heir to Stormsend and all its lands and the next holder of the title Warden of the East, I would propose a betrothal between you and Princess Dalla of House Stark, done so in the sights of Gods and men. Do you accept this union?”

Ned cast an apologetic look at Joanna before he cleared his throat and announced loudly that yes, he would accept.

Another roar went up from the other Stormlords, all of them cheering and slamming their cups down, applauding, whistling… every table applauding the fact their next Lord would take a Princess for a wife. Every table except the ones the Lannister’s were sitting at. 

Jaime was staring slack jawed and wide eyed at the scene, Brienne looked like she could have spilled blood, Tycen and even Tylah looked apologetically up at their sister, and Alysanne was asking if Ned and Joanna would still be marrying…

Galladon watched as Joanna stood frozen for a long moment before she forced herself to move. She gave Ned a quick hug, he saw the black haired boy tell her ‘I’m sorry’ but she said nothing in return. A server came by, refilling the wine in Jaime’s glasses.

“Lady Arya would like me to send a message on her behalf, Kingslayer. The North remembers,” the servant muttered darkly. “And she would like me to remind you how lucky you are to be able to leave this feast with your whole family alive and intact with just your daughter’s pride wounded.”

Without another word the man turned and headed to another table.

Joanna quickly made her way down from the head table and bypassed all the other tables, including their own, wiping furiously at her eyes.

“Joanna!” Jaime called out to no response. Both he and Brienne stood up and followed her out of the Great Hall...


	5. Chapter 5

“Joanna! Joanna, please!”

“Leave me alone!”

“Joanna, wait!” 

Brienne reached out and took hold of her daughter’s hand, twisting her around. The tears in her deep blue eyes were like a dagger to the Knights heart.

“I said leave me  _ alone _ !” the young girl cried, wrenching her hand free and hurrying down the hall and up the stairs, a sob echoing off the stone walls.

Jaime stood next to her, eyes full of murder and sorrow and pain. “I’ll kill her,” he growled. “I’ll kill the little bitch, Arya humiliated her for no reason.”

Brienne whipped towards her husband. Calloused hand curling into a fist. “Why did you promise her?!” she snapped as sharp as a blade, taking him aback. “Why did you promise her this would happen?!”

The lion took a step back from her. “Are you saying this is my fault?”

“I’m saying she might not be as heartbroken as she is right now if you hadn’t of gotten her hopes up like I TOLD you not to do!”

“I thought it was a sure thing!” Jaime yelled back, both of their voices rising well beyond what was an appropriate level in their Liege lord’s home. “Joanna and him make the most sense!”

“Arya hates you, Jaime! She still blames you for the death of Robb, she hates me for marrying you and ‘betraying’ Lady Catelyn! You really thought she’d let this happen when a princess was right there?!”

“Do NOT put this all on me, Wench! You were sitting right alongside me when we first brought the idea up to the bloody stag!”

“That didn’t mean you had to tell Joanna to start making wedding plans!” Brienne ran a hand through her short slicked back hair. “Not everybody gets everything they’ve ever wanted in life like you did.”

He narrowed his emerald green eyes at her, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “Really? I got everything I ever wanted? My life was a total breeze?”

“It was a lot easier than most,” she said shortly before she turned on the heel of her boot and stormed off, ignoring his inquiries as to where she was going. 

Minutes later she found herself outside Joanna’s chambers, muffled sniffling coming from inside crushing her heart.

“Joanna?” Brienne called through the door, gently tapping on the heavy wood. “Joanna, it’s your mother.”

“Go away please,” the young girl called back out, her voice heavy with tears and grief.

“I can’t do that, Joanna. Please let me in…” A beat of silence and then the knight added, “we don’t even have to talk, not if you don’t want to, I just want to make sure you’re alright.”

There was a moment of silence before the locks untumbled and the door opened. Joanna stood there in her rose colored small clothes, the dress that the princesses dressmaker spent countless hours on had been thrown on the floor in a heap while her painted face was streaked with tears.

Not so much as a breath passed before Joanna was hugging her tightly and fiercely, shoulders trembling as she let out muffled sobs. Brienne stiffened for a long moment, longer then she knew she should have, before she brought her arms up and wrapped them around her daughter, wishing Jaime was there in her stead.

He had always been the one to comfort the cubs in times of strife. They ran to him when they needed a scrape kissed or a soothing voice to tell them everything was alright, she was the one they went to when they needed protection from the grumpkins and snarks under their beds when they were children. In yet another strange twist of events that was their relationship, their father was the nurturer and their mother was the protector.

“It’s not fair, Mama!” Joanna sobbed, clutching her mother’s tunic, using the title she hadn’t used since she was a small girl or unless she was truly, genuinely afraid or upset. “He promised me! He promised me it would work out, It’s not fair!”

“I know, my little love,” Brienne said, hoping the awkwardness of the situation wouldn’t shine through in what she hoped was a comforting tone that even to her own ears sounded a bit strained before she kissed the top of her pale yellow curls. “I know…”

An hour of consolation later Joanna sat on the feather bed, long legs pulled up to her chest and arms wrapped around them while she rested her chin on top of them, the occasional silent team making its way down her face. Brienne sat beside her, fiddling her fingers together and staring down at the carpeted ground.

“I wanna leave,” Joanna muttered after a spell of silence. “I wanna go home.”

Brienne nodded. “I’ll speak with the captain after I leave here, we’ll set sail tomorrow morning.”

The young girl said nothing to that, just sniffed away another tear and pulled her legs closer to her chest. Brienne glances over at her for a moment, heart breaking in two. She looked so small, so heartbroken, so incredibly young… 

The knight took a deep breath before she spoke. “Did I ever tell you about the night King Renly married Queen Margaery?” No answer but a shake of her head. “When Renly put out a call for arms I came over with the rest of the Tarth soldiers. I had already…” Brienne gnawed at her lip. It had been so long since she spoke of her King at all much less admit to anyone, much less her children, how she felt about the gallant Stag. “By that time I was already  _ very _ infatuated with him.” Our of the corner of her eye she saw Joanna furrow her brow. As far as all five of her cubs were concerned up until now, she only had eyes for their father. 

“That’s a large part of why I decided to go fight for Renly, I wanted to be near him, I wanted to protect him, I had dreams where the king would come to my chambers and tell me that he loved me and thought me beautiful and he wanted to marry me and make me his Queen… I didn’t realize that in order to get the whole might of The Reach he agreed to marry Margaery and take her as his queen. His Grace made an announcement one morning that his bannerman were to come to the Sept dressed in their finest that evening. I didn’t want to go but my father said before I left that I had to be the best representative of Tarth I could be. So I sat there and watched the man I pined for marry this perfect woman, this dainty beautiful high born beauty from a great house, the kind of beauty men fought wars over. I skipped the feast and instead I went into the stables and I sobbed and wept and cried for hours until I fell asleep in the hay in one of the stalls.”

When Brienne finally looked up from the floor she saw Joanna staring slack jawed and wide eyes at her mother. “So you… you had to watch the person you loved marry someone else? Mother I’m so sorry…”

“Thank you.” Her lips tugged upwards in spite of herself. “Little did I know though, that less than six months later Lady Catelyn would task me with bringing the most obnoxiously arrogant man I’ve ever met to Kingslanding who would eventually turn out to be my soulmate.”

Joanna’s own lips flickered into a small smile. “Father.”

Brienne nodded, hating herself as her smile grew at the memories. “I was never meant to be a doe. I was meant to be a lioness. What I felt with the king was nothing compared to how it felt with Jaime, even when we hated each other and argued I felt everything a thousand times deeper with him then I had ever felt with Renly. There’s no comparing the two, one was an infatuation, the other was love.” She reached out and pushed a stray curl behind her ear. “Your father and I will find you your Jaime as well. I promise you. It might not be with Ned, but you will find someone who looks at you like you’re their world, who understands you, who compliments every part of you, who’ll jump into a bear pit to save you. You’ll go to bed at night in his arms hoping you’ll dream of him because being without him even for those few hours is torture…”

Any semblance of a smile faded from Joanna’s face. “But that’s me with Ned already. I love him, Mother, I do! As much as you love father! He-...” The tears had started to make their return. “He was supposed to be  _ my _ husband not that… not the princesses,” she decided to settle on. She swiped the back of her hand across her wet eyes. “I should have learned to fight like you,” Joanna muttered. “At least then I’d have  _ some _ worth, I wouldn’t be just this tall ugly girl who’s sixteen and still unwed.”

Brienne took Joanna’s face in her hands and forced her to look in her eyes, sapphires blazing into sapphires. “You  **DO** have worth,” Brienne barked, so fiercely that the sharp tone startled the young girl. “And you’re  **NOT ** ugly, Joanna. Don’t you ever call yourself that again, do you understand me?”

Joanna just rolled her eyes and pulled away from Brienne's grasp. She laid down on the bed and rolled over, facing away from her mother. “Just leave me alone.”

“Joanna-.”

“Please?”

Signing and without another word, Brienne got up from the bed, kissed her daughter on the brow and headed out of the chambers. She made a quick stop at the kitchens, asking them if they could please send up a warm cup of sweetened milk with cinnamon and cloves to Joanna. Afterwards she made her way out to the training yard where a straw filled opponent took the brunt of her frustrations and anger until she felt a light drizzle fell from the sky and a moment later a streak of lightning flashed, thunder boomed and the rain started coming down in buckets.

Once soaked but safely inside, Brienne went and found the captain of the ship that brought them over. She started to tell him they were leaving at first light the next morning but turns out Jaime had already told him the same. When she checked on the other four cubs and told them to pack up their things because they were leaving on the morrow she found out her husband had taken care of that as well.

Finally she made her way into her own chambers and a blast of welcome heat hit her in the face thanks to the roaring fire in the fireplace and the cold dreariness of Stormsend rain was washed away. Jaime was already in bed, reading a weighty tome about the western houses but she noticed his eyes stopped moving the moment she walked into the room.

Neither made a sound as Brienne stripped out of her waterlogged clothes and set them in front of the fireplace to dry before they left tomorrow. She pulled on a crimson colored sleeping shaft that was actually Jaime’s but she was too exhausted to look for her own before she finally climbed into bed next to him. A thick silence hung heavy in the air between them before the lion finally broke it. 

“You get caught up in the storm?” he asked without tearing his eyes away from the book.

“I was in the training yard,” she admitted. “Weather got away from me…”

He just nodded, still not looking up at her. “How’s Joanna?”

“I talked to her but I don’t… she’s heartbroken, Jaime. She will be for a long time.”

Jaime sighed, rubbing his temples before he set the book down and turned to look at Brienne for the first time since she walked in their chambers. “I’m sorry,” he admitted. “I never should have promised her things would work out without considering all the ways it could go wrong.” Brienne watched as he looked down at the thick furs covering them, pulling at a loose yellow thread. “I just… I had to watch Cersei marry Robert. I had to sit there in that Sept and pretend I wasn’t dying when they said the words and he cloaked her in yellow and black. I never thought anything could hurt as much as watching her be with another man. I couldn’t even stay for the whole feast, I went to an inn in flea bottom and stayed there the whole night.”

“Better an inn then a stable,” she said with a sad smile, reaching over and rubbing his shoulder. “But Jaime why did you promise her she’d be betrothed to him knowing there was a chance things might not work out?”

“Because I thought it would,” he said simply. “And I wanted to give her hope that the person she loves would be hers. If I had known she’d be humiliated like this, if I thought for a second things wouldn’t work out…” He finally looked up at his wife, pleading with her to believe and forgive him. “I’m sorry, Brienne. Truly. You were right, I shouldn’t have promised her that she would be betrothed to Ned.”

“I’m sorry too,” she told him. “For what I said. What Arya did wasn’t your fault, and you didn’t have an easy life.”

“No but like you said; I had it a lot easier than most.”

“In some aspects. Not all.”

He quirked his brow at her, his lips curling into a smug grin. “You know you  _ can _ let me apologize without defending me right?”

“I could say the same to you,” she said with a soft smile before she rested her head on his chest, smiling as she felt his arms wrap around her and hold her close. His heartbeat played her that beautiful lullaby that had lulled her to sleep the last sixteen years.

“Think she’ll be okay?” he asked while he absentmindedly stroked her short straw colored hair.

“I hope so.” Her sapphire eyes closed as the heat from the fireplace and the warmth from the furs overtop the two of them overwhelmed her with drowsiness. “She’ll bounce back,” she yawned and cuddled closer to him. “We did after all.”

Jaime said something in response to her but she had already faded to sleep, smiling in slumber as her dreams filled her mind's eye of a golden lion and a white lioness tearing a faceless wolf apart limb from limb.

Across the narrow sea; a man was dreaming as well. Of a black dragon long forgotten devouring wolf and lion and stag alike...

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